Without the slightest hesitation, Jahan pressed the detonator activation key.
Despite the dwelling's good soundproofing, the roar of detonation and destruction reached him through the open door to the attic.
He approached the window, used the monocular to examine the scene several kilometers away.
Windows shattered in buildings adjacent to the blast sites.
Transparisteel shards turned into deadly shrapnel that raked the stormtrooper ranks, increasing the number of wounded and dead.
Several skyscrapers damaged in the orbital bombardment could not withstand it and collapsed under their own mass, burying an entire battalion advancing slightly south of the Dominion positions.
Other buildings crumbled too, creating avalanches and blockages in the path of Pentastar Alignment troops.
Roadbeds and overpasses along which stormtroopers and armored vehicles moved exploded. White armor and gray vehicle hulls fell downward like ash and snow during volcanic eruptions on frozen planets.
The demolition of several buildings not only buried the quartered Pentastar Alignment soldiers inside but also destroyed temporary HQs and blocked fortifications.
The Pentastar Alignment's advance toward the New Republic garrison evacuation points was interrupted.
Thousands of casualties and hundreds of mangled and wrecked combat vehicles, including massive walkers, now littered the streets in all quarters surrounding the Imperial Palace.
He had employed New Republic mobile reconnaissance-sabotage unit tactics, with which the garrison had slowed the enemy by abandoning one defensive line and falling back to another.
But on a much larger scale.
"Stormtroopers from adjacent districts are moving to the sabotage sites," Afar reported. "Detecting withdrawal of up to two-thirds of personnel and armor. Roads are clear."
"Excellent," Agent Cross commented.
Thus, everything was going according to plan.
The sabotages not only slowed the Pentastar Alignment's advance, allowing as many Republicans as possible to evacuate, but also weakened Kaine's military presence in the districts that Jahan's fighters would need to cross to reach the deep interrogation sector.
"Moving out," he directed, watching the guards place the final charges in the penthouse. "Switch comm channel."
He had not used the emergency services line for nothing.
No military operation proceeded without thorough work by communications assurance units.
Sooner or later, they would find this place simply by analyzing all communication variants.
By Jahan's estimates, it would take them no less than three hours.
The same amount of time additional forces would spend at the sabotage sites investigating and reinforcing the front line.
And then Pentastar Alignment reinforcements would head here—to check the hunch and eliminate the threat.
The demolition charges of baradium and nergo-14 placed throughout the building, especially at its apex, would obliterate the skyscraper the moment enemy troops entered.
And bury the entire area in debris, interring not only enemy soldiers but also the route to the deep interrogation sector for a long time.
And the enemy's regrouping would allow Dominion groups to withdraw farther, continuing to dig up Imperial Intelligence and Imperial Security Service secret caches.
***
Sometimes it's even entertaining—to return to those sectors where certain victories were achieved.
But in the case of our current destination, one could say the past success had bypassed this place.
The gravity wells of the Maw Cluster yanked the "Chimaera" out of hyperspace, shattering the already familiar stream of white-blue hyperspace light.
The Maw—the dangerous neighbor of Kessel—I was seeing for the first time.
The enormous vortex of matter sucked into the unknown resembled hypnotic spirals.
Only in this whirlpool's case, one could not expect that the worst a showman would do to you was pick your pockets.
One careless move—and the ship's hull would begin experiencing monstrous overloads, disintegrating under irresistible force.
The Kessel sector and the Maw nebula.
Any sensible pilot would stay far from these places, as luring those willing to risk their ship and neck here was not so easy.
Well, that's the official version.
Smugglers and various scoundrels, as well as Republicans and even Imperials (not to mention other prominent galactic denizens) visited the Kessel system with quite respectable safety.
And entirely different goals.
The Empire delivered criminals here and pursued its own interests in spice mining or building a secret lab in the black hole's depths.
Oddly, the New Republic had made its mark too. But unlike the Imperials, their most famous visit involved the opposite—extracting the most hardened villains from here and delivering them to the Empire's heart—Coruscant.
Smugglers and criminals came here for two reasons.
First—not of their own volition, to serve sentences.
Second—to smuggle contraband spice.
The spectacle of numerous gravity well throats of black holes, made visible by the ionized gas of the Maw nebula they devoured, was mesmerizing and terrifying simultaneously.
The Maw Cluster (also known as the Maw).
The "Chimaera's" course was plotted so that right before its bow, the system's white-blue star, Kessa, unfurled in all its glory.
But the Destroyer was already arcing, settling onto course for orbit around the system's most famous astronomical object.
The planet Karedda was an ice-covered world devoid of atmosphere and frankly dangerous for sentient life.
It occupied the third orbital position from Kessa.
First from the star was Senna, which in opposition to Karedda was instead a molten ball rich in useful minerals...
Which could be mined if logistics costs from the hard-to-reach region did not exceed possible profits.
But there was a nuance known to me but completely hidden from the eyes and minds of most of the galaxy.
The situation here was practically the same as on Nkllon, well, except stellar radiation levels were higher.
This imposed yet another problem for presence in the Kessel system—radiation was a sensor enemy in modern ships, so until you approached at least the icy planet Karedda, your presence could be detected only by ships miraculously nearby your Destroyer.
Of which there were not exactly many here.
And that played to my advantage.
However, that was worth considering a bit later.
As was possible development of the planet's deposits.
Yes, expensive, but again...
There was a nuance.
Finally, Kessel itself came into view—a huge ripe potato with pale tendrils of artificial atmosphere streaming into open space.
I had a classmate from Minsk.
I think if he ended up in this galaxy with me, he would definitely relocate here.
Because he loved, respected, and valued potatoes.
And in general, he was not a wasteful person, thrifty, but with a refined inner workings.
And heavy fists.
One could laugh at stereotypes as much as one wanted, but Yuras took any jokes about Belarusians and potatoes as a national insult, uncompromisingly punched faces, and every weekend drove to his dacha, where from dawn to dusk he toiled over cherished beds and characteristic bushes.
Beside it, a small drab orb—the Garrison Moon, which in recent past had hidden an entire Imperial garrison in its depths, watching order on Kessel's prison settlements.
And this place clearly needed significant guarding, because uprisings and riots against lawful authority on Kessel were almost monthly practice for inmates who had nothing to lose.
The planet Kessel.
For most of the galaxy, Kessel was no more than an Imperial high-security colony where the most hardened and vile scum served long sentences.
The flip side was that the prisoners here were not just idling.
Nor blissfully gazing at the mesmerizing beauties of the Maw slowly devouring matter in the system.
Kessel was a ghost, a legend, a world of doom that even in this illumination was not immediately noticeable.
It was too small to hold its own atmosphere.
Hence, gigantic generator factories on its surface tirelessly processed tons upon tons of mineral raw material, releasing oxygen and carbon dioxide.
Thanks to this, on Kessel one could still manage without spacesuits—for now, simple breathing apparatus sufficed: oxygen masks and tanks.
And right before my eyes, another hefty portion of atmosphere simply evaporated into space, trailing behind the small plaque like the tail of a giant comet.
"Sir, we're assuming assigned orbit," Captain Tschel reported.
"Any word from Corran Horn?" I inquired.
"None, sir," the "Chimaera's" commander replied. "Scanning all frequencies—nothing."
"Good," I directed. "Contact our recon ARC-170s—have them conduct a flyby of the Garrison Moon. I want to know its condition."
"Yes, sir. Launch the duty squadron?" Judging by his puzzled expression, Tschel was clearly concerned by my mention of walking straight into a trap.
"Launch them," I permitted. "If it'll make you calmer—have them hold the outer defense perimeter."
Saluting silently, Tschel left me, heading toward the watch officers to whom he began issuing quiet orders.
I returned to contemplating the cosmic object toward which the "Chimaera" was heading.
Despite the planet being inhabited solely by prisoners, Kessel... Was extraordinarily important to the galaxy.
I would even say this "potato" held strategic significance for the galaxy equal to Thyferra.
In the same year that Luke Skywalker trusted the Force and blew up the labor of billions of sentients in the Yavin system, the Imperials maintained several massive communications satellites in orbit around Kessel to control the surface prisons on the shattered planet.
They also cleared passage through the system and coordinated ship landings.
Each of these satellites was guarded by a Victory-class Star Destroyer, two Acclamator-class assault ships, two Tartan-class patrol cruisers, several squadrons of TIE fighters, TIE interceptors, and bombers, as well as one squadron of elite ships, TIE Defenders.
After the Empire lost the Battle of Endor, Kessel's Imperial security forces decided to abandon the planetoid on their own. The atmosphere factories were shut down, though inmates in Detention Center Alpha, Detention Center Beta, and Detention Center Gamma were forced to continue working in the thinning air. Soon after liberating the planet Kashyyyk, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Lando Calrissian, and other Wookiee soldiers arrived on the planet and successfully restarted three atmospheric plants, freeing many Imperial slaves and prisoners in the process.
According to intelligence data, a revolt had occurred on Kessel several years ago.
But not like the previous one.
Imperial Correctional Facility staff led by prison administrator Morut Dul rose up against the Imperial garrison, overthrowing the guards and taking control of the planet, appointing Arba Skyynxneka as his number two. After the revolt, Dul discovered a dead rancor in the prison that had clearly not been fed. He regretted the rancor's death, as he had planned to feed it the Imperials. Instead, he sent them into the mines, and tortured and froze the former prison chief in carbonite, displaying him in his office for all to see.
Unfortunately, that was the last report from our agent, who had gone to the planet posing as yet another smuggler intending to smuggle spice out from under the administration's nose.
Of course they caught him; he successfully infiltrated the prisoner milieu and learned quite a bit of interesting information, which he duly passed on to us.
His silence meant only one thing—they killed him.
He had gone quiet a day before Corran Horn came on comms with a meeting proposal.
So I decided to combine several matters at once.
Kessel was the largest spice producer and thus a highly unsettled place regarding smuggling.
After its formation, the Empire clamped down on spice production and vigilantly controlled everything—naturally, except what daring smugglers, including Han Solo in bygone days, managed to snatch from under its nose.
For nearly five years now, Kessel had been under criminal control, with thousands of former Imperials in the mines extracting spice.
And spice... Was not just a drug but key raw material or catalyst for many medicines.
The drug itself was expensive, and for a significant list of potent pharmaceuticals, it was vital.
Control of Kessel was a strategic victory that could provide both money and necessary resources.
But after the coup and criminal takeover, the planet—conveniently remote from busy routes—severed contacts with most of the galaxy, and reaching it without suffering from any galactic conflict side was quite difficult given the limited forces and capabilities.
So no one had poked here to find out why Kessel was not communicating under any pretext.
Well, time to find out what was really happening here.
Meanwhile, the "Chimaera" inexorably approached Kessel, maneuvering with thrusters to settle into high orbit on the far side of the "potato" and prolong its incognito.
The radiation background continued to play in our favor.
"Chimaera" over Kessel.
"The duty squadron commander reports seeing orbital beacons operational," Tschel reported. "Also, five starships detected. Class identification difficult due to radiation interference."
"Expected," I said.
Moreover—it was planned that way.
"I think it's time to introduce ourselves," I said, looking at my flagship's commander. "Boost comms equipment power at the expense of additional deflector energy."
"Yes, sir," Tschel relayed the order to the watch chief.
For several seconds he was silent, looking somewhere behind me, then added on his own:
"Prepare to activate deflectors at full power. Battle stations check. Crew to combat posts."
A sensible precaution.
I approve.
"Begin, Captain," I ordered.
"Activate transponder," Tschel directed.
In that instant, the "Chimaera's" squawk spread through the area in Basic, notifying all present of the Star Destroyer's arrival.
And nothing happened.
At least we did not register anything.
"Sir," the watch officer approached Tschel. "The duty squadron reports the detected ships are changing course, leaving orbit, and approaching the 'Chimaera' at maximum speed."
"Managed to identify them now?" Tschel asked impatiently, rubbing the lower edge of his tunic with his right palm.
"They're five Carracks, sir."
And that was already interesting.
The Carrack-class light cruiser was designed for effective combat against small craft.
And five such ships at once could very inconveniently maul our air wing.
"Gunners distribute targets," he directed.
Looking at me, the man inquired:
"Sir, permission?"
"Act at your discretion, Captain," I said, feeling the long-forgotten ysalamiri discontentedly dig claws into my pants. What a nasty little thing! "Consider me not here. Officially, I'm even a corpse."
Tschel smiled nervously, then brought his comlink to his mouth:
"This is Captain Tschel of the Star Destroyer 'Chimaera,' Dominion Starfleet. We have arrived to meet Corran Horn and to liberate Imperial POWs from Kessel's mines. I request that Administrator Morut Dul show wisdom, accept payment for the prisoners, and not subject your people on the 'Carracks' to senseless death. In case of an attack attempt on my ship, you will all be destroyed. Wherever you are—in space or on the surface."
Silence.
And the light cruisers kept approaching and approaching...
"Looks like it's time to teach them a lesson," Tschel muttered, looking at me with bated expectation of comment.
But I saw no point in it.
His ship—let him command.
"The 'Raider' exit the main hangar and take position in the Destroyer's lower hemisphere," it had required modifications to place the duty squadron in the cargo bay so its launch did not intersect with corvettes dangling on magnetic clamps. "Air wing—launch. 'Scimitars' prepare to dash behind the enemy stern and destroy it."
I continued silent, and Tschel—drilling me with his gaze.
"Sir," he finally could not stand it. "Do you have orders?"
"Not a single one," I replied calmly. This was not a flight with an instructor. This was another proficiency check. "But there is advice, Captain."
"What, sir?" Tschel asked, relieved.
"Do not ask the enemy to agree to your terms when speaking from a position of strength," I said. "It immediately destroys your reputation in the eyes of such rabble. The strong one does not ask. He offers or demands. In particularly advanced cases—he takes by force. But he does not ask."
"Clear, sir," judging by the tone, that was not the answer Tschel had hoped for. And from the intonation, I understood he had realized this battle he would conduct independently. "What do I do now?"
Come on, Tschel, more composure.
I slowly turned my head, looked straight into the young Star Destroyer commander's eyes, then said:
"Destroy them, Captain. And prepare for troop deployment."